


if kisses were fishes, then i'd be an ocean

by norio



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-28 11:05:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7637662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/norio/pseuds/norio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Akaashi needs a fake date partner, so he grabs the first person he sees.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if kisses were fishes, then i'd be an ocean

The first time, Akaashi said, “I’m sorry. I’d like to focus on volleyball, so I’m not interested in dating at the moment.” 

The second time, Akaashi said, “Thank you, but I’m sorry. I’m focusing on club activities.” 

The third, fourth, fifth time had all been the same lines, repackaged in suitably polite words. Some argued with him in desperate pleas. Others took the devastation with thin mouths and crumpled brows. Akaashi disliked the unpleasant process, but he understood the necessity. He wasn’t the most popular student in his class, but he attracted attention. His exam rankings were always high and he played starting setter for a popular sport. Smart and sporty. Truly the whole package. 

But as the girl murmured the end of her confession, and the cooling sweat dripped down his neck, he would have preferred a polite broadcast across the school to say no, he wasn’t interested, sorry, and try to spare others the trouble. Instead, he steeled himself to deliver another tactful speech. 

“Akaashi, are you coming inside yet? Toss for me!” Bokuto stuck his head out the door, scowling at the wait. When he spotted the girl, his eyes widened to saucers and his mouth formed a comedic ‘o,’ the slow realization dawning over his face. In the three seconds that Bokuto noticed the situation, Akaashi had decided on the best course of action. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “But I’m already dating him.” He grabbed Bokuto’s hand before Bokuto could speak. He clenched his cold fingers over Bokuto’s palm, trying to slow down Bokuto’s inevitable surprised outcry. Fortunately, the girl spoke first, with “Oh, I didn’t—I should have—I see, I understand,” and ducked her head. When she darted away, newly defined interest in her eyes, Akaashi knew the gossip would spread throughout the school. It solved one problem, but Akaashi still waited for Bokuto’s loud denial and adamant questioning. 

Instead, Bokuto asked, “Are we dating?” 

Bokuto looked at him with a quiet curiosity. 

“No. That was a lie.” Akaashi swallowed his surprise at the muted response.

“Oh. Okay.” Bokuto shrugged. “Toss for me?” 

The rest of practice continued normally. The only noticeable aspect was Bokuto tripping over where Komi had sprawled down to sleep. He didn’t mention the dating lie, and Akaashi didn’t bring it up.  
  


* * *

  
By the end of the week, the entire school knew that Bokuto was supposedly dating Akaashi. The volleyball club was the shining pride of Fukurodani and everybody who had ever wandered past the gym knew Bokuto. Akaashi told the club that he had been the source of the lie and their performance should continue normally. Konoha blinked slowly in surprise when he heard the rumor had been false. Komi’s mouth dropped open when he realized Akaashi and Bokuto hadn’t been dating all along. Akaashi ignored their responses and practiced his serve. 

The confessions stopped abruptly, but the occasional suspicious glance bore down into his back. Bokuto might be all warm smiles and loud affection, but Akaashi would have to play up the role of the cloying boyfriend. He settled for asking Bokuto to eat lunch with him in the courtyard. Anybody could spot them from the windows, and the shade from the colossal tree provided some pleasant relief from the piercing blue sky. He sat and opened the eaves of his bento box. Bokuto leaned back, hand scraping over the chalky brick, and munched on his cafeteria food. 

It was Bokuto’s silence that surprised him the most. Not literal silence, of course. Bokuto was talking about the recent quiz in his class, how he had forgotten his pencil, and oh also everything that was going to be on the test, and hey, Akaashi, was it weird that he got better scores when he guessed randomly. But he wasn’t talking about how Akaashi had lied about dating him. Passing students glanced at them for a second too long, but Bokuto chewed on his bread and stared at the flitting light from the leaves. 

“I’m not dating you,” Akaashi said quietly, when nobody lingered around them. Bokuto paused with his fingers on the crinkling cellophane. 

“Yeah,” Bokuto said, a little unsurely, like it was absurd to even discuss the matter. “You told me yesterday, remember?”

“I also told people that we were dating.” Akaashi clipped his chopsticks closed. 

“Um, yeah. I was there yesterday, too. Wait!” Bokuto’s jaw dropped open. “Are you testing me?” 

“I’m not.” Then, a little irritably: “I wouldn’t.” Because now that he knew Bokuto understood, he was even more baffled to why Bokuto wasn’t squawking up a fuss. 

“If you say so,” Bokuto said suspiciously. “Are you done eating yet? Let’s go play already.” 

“Almost.” Akaashi slid his chopsticks over his fingers again.

“Your lunch looks really good,” Bokuto leaned over. “Did you make it?” 

“In the morning.” Akaashi picked up a chicken meatball. He had added some broccoli and sliced an egg, but his lunch was remarkably plain. 

“That’s great! When I try to make lunch, it goes all wrong.” Bokuto spent the next five minutes elaborating on his last trial of prepping his lunch, where the rice had somehow become soggy and sticky, the fruit stale and dry, and the tender meat magically becoming untender. His parents were busy with work, but he managed to keep himself fed with cafeteria food. Except when he forgot his lunch money. Akaashi quietly marveled how Bokuto, despite being Bokuto, could navigate the lunch hour. 

In the end, Bokuto only left to buy drinks from the vending machine around the corner. He returned with a rambling recollection of a commercial for the drinks, didn’t Akaashi remember, the one with the cat, or was it the band, but the tune was either really catchy or really bad. He dropped one bottle into Akaashi’s hands and opened the other with his elbows pressed on his knees, brow furrowed until he suddenly remembered it had been a commercial for a vacuum cleaner. 

Akaashi withstood the penetrative glances after school while cleaning the classroom. “How long have you guys been dating,” his classmate asked, the one who sat next to him and sometimes forgot his eraser, and Akaashi didn’t want anything too definitive that Bokuto would refute, so he just murmured how it began before he knew it and other trite phrases. But he didn’t think Bokuto would refute anything. If anybody asked him, he’d probably blink and tell them to ask Akaashi, and that would be normal. Other than the lingering looks, everything continued as normal. 

He stayed late at practice again, and walked home with Bokuto again. Students still walked down the streets, some with duffle bags and others chattering loudly amongst themselves. Again, they glanced at Akaashi a little dubiously, eyes darting to Bokuto and back. 

“Think about it, Akaashi,” Bokuto was saying, stroking his chin. “All birds eat. And all birds have stomachs. So, logically, owls can fart, right?” 

“If you say so.” 

“Okay, so let’s say they do fart. But do they fart when they fly? Are they propelled by farts?” Bokuto frowned in thought. His hand dangled between them, his other hand tucked into the strap of his bag. Akaashi had to act like a boyfriend under the prying eyes. He had no time to mull over his decision. He grabbed Bokuto’s hand, not in a clench, but slipped his fingers over his knuckles and entwined them with Bokuto’s calloused fingers. 

He was used to touching Bokuto. After all, Bokuto would sometimes hang off his shoulders, weight pressed against his back, pleading for attention. He could even remember a practice match where Bokuto rammed into a player’s knee and Akaashi had pushed the others out of the way, running his hands over Bokuto’s screwed face, accessing the measure of pain and level of damage. But this wasn’t a match. This felt like a warm secret, a calming whisper. He only loosely gripped Bokuto’s hand, but he could feel Bokuto squeeze back. He felt a rush of relief. 

“It’s interesting, right?” Bokuto asked.

“What?” Akaashi tried to remember to breathe again. His heart pounded into his arm. 

“Owls are interesting.” Bokuto grinned. Akaashi likely responded with something in monotone, wry and witty, but he could only feel the gentle weight brushing against his hand.  
  


* * *

  
He started having lunch daily with Bokuto, and the suspicious glances trailed off. He’d wait for Bokuto in the courtyard while Bokuto bought bread from the cafeteria. Bokuto would eventually wander off to buy drinks. Classes. Clean-up. Practice. Walking home, sometimes holding his hand. 

One morning, he woke up earlier than usual. He paused while spooning the rice into his box. He had an extra box, in case he misplaced his current one. After pushing aside some pots and pans, he found the box abandoned in the corner of a cabinet. He washed the box, suds clinging to his hands, and divided the rice evenly. He had no frills for his food, no heart shapes or animal eyes. He sliced a tomato and broke off some corn. He tucked the beef beside the broccoli.

At lunch, he pulled Bokuto aside and handed him the box. 

“You’ll play better if you have better nutrients,” Akaashi said. “It’s nothing special—”

“Wow!” Bokuto grinned, holding up the box to the light of the window. “Wow! It’s amazing! I bet it tastes great! I can’t wait! Can I eat it now? Can I?”

“It is lunchtime—” 

“Wow!” 

Akaashi ate his own lunch while Bokuto devoured his share. He ate like he hadn’t eaten for weeks, chopsticks clacking against the side of the box. He wolfed down the corn and inhaled the broccoli. By the time he got to the meat, a few stray grains of rice stuck to his face. Akaashi pulled out his handkerchief and patted down Bokuto’s face. He froze while folding the handkerchief in his lap. 

That, too, had been an intimate touch. It wasn’t casual, like the way Bokuto slung an arm over his shoulders. His fingers had touched his face, and Bokuto hadn’t even blinked. Maybe, Akaashi told himself, Bokuto simply had a low threshold for personal touches. But he curled his fingers into his palm, and only opened his grasp again when Bokuto brought him a drink. He collected the boxes into his bag, and Bokuto raved about the meal on the walk home. 

“You’re really good at it,” Bokuto enthused. “I liked it a lot! It’s been a while since I had food like that. It had a real zing, you know?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Zing! You know, zing! Not like zoop.” 

“Do you have any preferences for tomorrow?” Akaashi murmured, prepared for ridiculous requests like meals from a restaurant. He’d knock them all down briskly, of course, with scathing comments to rid Bokuto of the ludicrous expectations. But he only heard his footsteps, and he stopped to glance at Bokuto. They had stayed at practice longer than usual, so Bokuto was lit by the soft streetlamp in the fading coals of the evening. His eyes opened wide, blinking rapidly, before his grin grew on his face.

“Tomorrow, too?” Bokuto asked. Akaashi could feel his heart softening inside him. Bokuto could try his patience, but sometimes, the smallest of Akaashi’s actions could bring him this immeasurable pleasure. Akaashi could do this for him. Akaashi wanted to do this for him.

“My neighbor,” Akaashi said, or breathed. 

“What?” Bokuto blinked at him. 

“My neighbor is in my class.” He glanced over to the rustling curtains of the house next door. “I think she’s watching us.” 

“Really?” Bokuto peered at the house. 

“No. But we shouldn’t take the chance.” Akaashi leaned forward and kissed him. It wasn’t so much him leaning forward—no, it was the world tilting on its axis, where he stood still and the earth rotated underneath him, and so the centimeters disappeared. It was that enormous, and that small. He thought kissing him might be awkward, lips pressed together in some cold plea, but it wasn’t. Bokuto kissed him back, like an instinct, and his mouth felt warm and comfortable. He had to draw back to take a breath, and he hadn’t realized his hand had been clenched into Bokuto’s jacket. The fabric crumpled underneath his hand. He inhaled quietly, the warmth lingering on his face. 

“Do you think—” Akaashi said at the same time Bokuto started with “That was—” Bokuto laughed and said, “Me first,” childish and impulsive. Akaashi only nodded, letting his breath settle back into his lungs. His heart still paced in restless beats. 

“That was nice,” Bokuto said. 

“Yes,” Akaashi said, and then, “But you could kiss harder.” 

“Akaashi,” Bokuto laughed. “Read the atmosphere.” And he would, he would, if the light wasn’t catching in Bokuto’s eyes.  
  


* * *

  
They won a practice match against another team who had gone to nationals. Bokuto stayed behind the club room to lock up, since he was the captain, and Akaashi stayed behind to actually lock up, since he was the vice-captain. When they all left, Akaashi reached for his uniform to start changing. Bokuto sat on the bench, face still flushed with happy adrenaline. 

“Did you see that spike?” he asked, waving his arm around. “It was so narrow! Didn’t even touch the antenna! Wasn’t it great, Akaashi!” 

“It was great,” Akaashi said automatically. “This was the spike after you served out-of-bounds, correct?” 

“Akaashi!” 

But it had been a good spike. It had been a good play altogether. Akaashi had set the ball like he would have gone with a quick to Onaga, leaving only a single blocker on Bokuto. With Bokuto’s vertical power and sheer strength, the ball had blasted down to the other side of the court. Bokuto was simply that powerful. Akaashi let his tie dangle in his hand and approached him on the bench. 

“What?” Bokuto asked. “I’ll practice serving!” 

“You should.” Akaashi leaned down. There were no students around, no rumors to be spread. He didn’t worry about others believing whether he had a boyfriend anymore. But he wanted to kiss Bokuto, suddenly, even though kisses had been reserved for the shadows of his house. 

So he kissed him. Bokuto leaned up, kissing hard and heavy, eager to please. But Akaashi didn’t want that. This kiss wasn’t for him, but for the both of them. He brought his hands to Bokuto’s face, brushing against his sturdy jaw. The bench felt cold and bruising against his knee. He kissed softly until Bokuto slowed down, and he felt Bokuto’s hands against his sides and he thought yes, yes, wildly, and he didn’t know why he felt relieved to know Bokuto would touch him too. When he heard footsteps to the door, he yanked himself away. 

“Hey, sorry,” Konoha said, head popping inside. “Actually, I can stay a little longer today. Want me to block?” 

“Yeah!” Bokuto leapt up. “Five hours of blocking!” 

“Um, I meant one hour, at most…” Konoha eventually closed the door, and Akaashi ran his finger over his locker door. He tried to think about the best way to apologize to Bokuto without stirring up any trouble, but Bokuto kissed him again. Though the kiss was short, Bokuto had pushed the locker door to hide the kiss from anybody who might wander into the club room.

“Shh,” Bokuto said, grinning with a finger over his mouth. Akaashi didn’t smile, but he averted his gaze and allowed his shoulders to relax.  
  


* * *

  
Akaashi was surprised how easily kisses slotted into their schedule. When they stopped in front of Akaashi’s house, Bokuto would absently kiss him before heading down the street. 

“We’re not dating,” Akaashi sometimes would say, firm and mouth drawn into a thin line. And Bokuto would glance at him with the same bewildered slackness in his face, eyebrows drawn together, and would say, “You’ve told me that a lot, Akaashi, I wouldn’t forget!” He didn’t forget, but Bokuto still never remarked when Akaashi would sometimes brush his fingers over Bokuto’s hand. 

Akaashi didn’t kiss him when Bokuto received a low grade on his math quiz. After a toss bounced harmlessly off Bokuto’s face, though, he dragged him aside. 

“When practice is over,” he said, “we can study together.” 

“Akaashi! You’d do that?” Bokuto beamed, and a sneaky grin crept over his face. “Actually, I got a better idea. After practice, why don’t we practice?” Akaashi neatly vetoed the idea, brutally eviscerating the suggestion until Bokuto slunk back to practicing with the team. He couldn’t deter Bokuto for long. Bokuto vibrated with excitement on the way back to his house, bouncing on the balls of his feet and pointing out unremarkable trees hanging over garden walls. One of Bokuto’s neighbors had a dog, apparently, and the other, a cat. Akaashi tried to stay awake. 

“My parents are at work,” Bokuto explained when he opened the door to the empty house. “They won’t be back until later, so don’t worry. Do you want something to drink? Eat? Pillow?” 

Akaashi did not want anything to pillow, but he accepted the offer for a glass of water. 

“Do your parents usually work late?” Akaashi asked.

“Yeah, I guess.” Bokuto pulled out his notebooks. Since Akaashi wasn’t even in the same year, ‘studying together’ meant keeping Bokuto away from distractions. When Bokuto’s hand wandered towards his volleyball books, Akaashi would gently remind Bokuto of his rapidly descending grades. Bokuto would snap back to his notes with a slightly desperate air around him. Akaashi finished his homework and idly watched Bokuto hunch over his textbook. When Bokuto got an answer right, he would snicker to himself, shoulders shaking with contained smugness. When Bokuto got an answer wrong, he would droop along his desk and woefully stare at the traitorous book. 

“I’m going to take a break,” Bokuto complained, “or my head’s gonna burst.” 

“All right.”

“You can’t stop me, Akaashi!” 

“I’m not trying to stop you.”

He could have returned to his seat on the opposite side of the table. His chilled glass of water rested on a faded coaster, and the imprints of his mouth left a faded smudge. But he sat beside Bokuto, squeezing his knees under the low table. Bokuto leaned against the side of his bed, glaring at the messy pile of scribbled equations. The empty house creaked, a low and guttural sound.

“Are you lonely?” Akaashi asked. The notebooks fanned out across the table. 

“Not anymore,” Bokuto said. 

Outside the window, footsteps padded across the sidewalk, a small tinkle of a jangling leash. The buzz of insects flitted across the telephone poles. Akaashi worked his fingers over his knees. 

“Hey, Akaashi,” Bokuto said. “I probably have neighbors, too.”

“I know.”

“They might be watching, right?” 

“Yes.” 

“So we can—”

“Yes,” Akaashi said. He glanced at the light blue swathes of curtains, neatly shut over the window. Bokuto grinned and kissed him.  
  


* * *

  
Bokuto threatened to run a fifth lap around the hills. Akaashi thought his wretched lungs had burst into flames, scorching and ripping up his stomach and his throat. His knees trembled like a shaky foal, and he braced himself against a shady tree for some moment of relief. Every cell in his body combusted, rebuilt, and combusted again. Bokuto had started to breathe heavily, which Akaashi assumed was the equivalent to his twisted agony. He finally bribed Bokuto with ice cream to sit down and rest.

“Akaashi,” Bokuto said, licking his ice cream. “Why don’t you want to date someone?” 

“What?” The sound rolled out of his throat like a dry croak. The ice cream melted over his fingers in small rivulets, trickling down his joints.

“Is there something bad about it?” Bokuto furrowed his brow. 

“It’s work.” Akaashi managed to drag his hand towards his face, licking pathetically at the ice cream where his muscles didn’t ache. “It’s time and effort. Right now, I want to focus on volleyball. I thought you’d understand that.” 

“Of course I do!” Bokuto said defensively. “But are you not dating because you’re too busy with me?” An earnest guilt shone through his voice. Not a secretive pain, but a raw and curious tone. 

“No,” Akaashi said, quick on the heels of Bokuto’s question. “No. It has nothing to do with you.” 

It didn’t. Dating was simply—difficult. He treated his dates like fragile glass, his limbs slow and his actions heavy. This was special, he told himself, while his back ached from the rigor. He should treat the date accordingly. But the specialness constricted his throat and he pulled through movie dates like he was dragging himself through mud. 

“Oh,” Bokuto said. “That’s too bad.” 

“What?” Akaashi shook himself from his stupor. 

“So we’re going to run three more laps, right?” Bokuto asked, and Akaashi allowed the dollop of ice cream to splatter on his thigh.  
  


* * *

  
Upon reflection, the incident was inevitable. When they were playing three on three, Akaashi had a particularly good set and Bokuto had a particularly good spike, so Bokuto kissed him on the court. Akaashi could feel the stares even before Bokuto released his hold on his elbow. Akaashi twisted his fingers against the hem of his shirt.

“All right! Next one!” Bokuto yelled, grabbing the ball from the sidelines. 

“Wait,” Konoha said. “Wait, wait wait wait.” 

“For what?” Bokuto scowled. 

“You guys aren’t actually dating, right?” Komi piped up, fingers hooking through the net. 

“No,” Akaashi said softly. He felt a prickling sensation on the back of his neck. His teammates were gaping at them. He should have already made plans for a situation like that, composing easy explanations or convenient refutations. But he had been charmed by the kisses and he had been spoiled by the ease, that when he pushed Bokuto against the short table and scattered their homework to the ground, that Bokuto would kiss back with such open joy. It had all been so simple and comfortable, like falling into step beside him. He had forgotten he didn’t get—this. 

“Then, is this a friend kiss?” Konoha threw up his hands. “Sorry, I’m not trying to pry. Sorry.” 

“I guess it’s a friend kiss,” Bokuto said, spinning the ball impatiently. “Akaashi is a friend. I mean, you’re my friend, too. That’s why I said we could all go out to eat after practice, remember?” 

Right, because Konoha was a friend, too. Akaashi rubbed his fingers together, trying not to think about Bokuto kissing other people. Maybe Bokuto would kiss others. It would be so easy for him, with his bright grin, but Akaashi’s chest felt cold. Because kissing Bokuto was a pleasure, his pleasure. Nobody would understand him or even appreciate him, he thought irrationally. But his thoughts had a wild, desperate edge. 

Fortunately, the conversation had turned to Bokuto’s idea of ‘treating the team,’ and the squabbling had Onaga scrambling for cover while Komi jumped on Konoha’s back and Washio accidentally stepping in front of Bokuto which lead Bokuto to try and grab Sarukai’s attention except Sarukai was pointedly trying to ignore them. Akaashi managed to untangle the mess by the end of practice and that was the end of that.  
  


* * *

  
Except it wasn’t the end of that, because the next day, Konoha pulled him aside and muttered, “Sorry, it’s really none of my business, it’s just I know someone in my class was interested in Bokuto but they think you two are together, so I don’t know, if it was just Bokuto, I’d leave it alone, but if it’s you—” and Akaashi had said something like, “I understand,” when he really didn’t. 

He didn’t hold Bokuto’s hand on the way home. Bokuto trailed off a few of his sentences, hand brushing against Akaashi’s tentatively, but Akaashi didn’t respond. Enough was enough. It had been duplicitous from the start to form a Bokuto shield. He wielded his friendship with Bokuto as a weapon, and he got what he deserved. 

“Do you want to go to my house?” Bokuto asked, pointing down the street. 

“Not today.” 

“Well, okay,” Bokuto said, unsurely. “Are you sure? I’ve got—I got, snacks. In my room.” 

“I’m sure.” Akaashi stared down at the horizon point of the melding streets. 

“Okay.” Bokuto shrugged. “Okay, but you’d tell me if you were mad with me, right?”

“I’m not mad.” Akaashi tried not to bend his mouth. “But if someone—not me—told you that they liked you, what would you do?” Because that was the languid onus. Akaashi couldn’t imagine himself good at dating. He’d bring the adequate number of bouquet flowers and buy the adequate amount of amusement park tickets and purchase the adequate number of birthday cakes. But Bokuto could smile and say, yes, you’re the one, and he would feel his own despicable efforts go to waste. He hated the part of himself that hated himself. 

“I’d tell them the truth!” Bokuto said. “I’d tell them that I can’t date them.” 

“Why?” Akaashi said, narrowing his eyes. A sudden fear seized him, a playback of his words whispering in his ears, and he added, “It might be hard work—for me—but you don’t have to worry about that—”

“That’s not it!” Bokuto scowled petulantly. “I get that it’s hard! But it’s not like there’s one right way of doing it! We’d figure something out.” 

“Then—”

“I’m waiting to see if my boyfriend likes me!” Bokuto crossed his arms over his chest, a perfect picture of grumpiness. Akaashi blinked once, twice, and opened his mouth.

“You have a boyfriend?” he asked. 

“Yeah,” Bokuto said. “You.” 

“We’re not dating,” Akaashi said, not knowing why he was trying to argue him down. “I’ve told you.”

“Yeah, but you’re still my boyfriend, right?” Bokuto frowned. 

His first thought was, no he wasn't.

His second thought was, of course he was.

In the three seconds it took for Bokuto to consider his confusion, Akaashi ran through the records in his mind, opening the drawers in a flurry of papers. He had thought dating was the stiff confession and awkward meetings at movie theaters, but he had never asked for anything else. He hadn’t noticed he was permitted to enjoy lunch dates and homework breaks. And maybe that was the thing he never realized, wrapped up in polite thoughts. The kisses had been nice because Bokuto had offered everything to him. The quiet vulnerability, the enjoyable affection, the unconditional love. Akaashi hadn’t needed to ask. He had become spoiled and lazy, expectant of the hand reaching out for him.

But he needed to ask now. 

He clenched and unclenched his fists. A few people shuffled down the street, but he didn’t care who was watching. Even though he knew that Bokuto wouldn't reject him, his hands still felt clammy and his eyes darted to the solid walls, the street lamps, the garden peeking from the gates, anywhere except for the person standing in front of him. He couldn't hide behind excuses anymore.

“Would you like to go out with me?” Akaashi snapped his gaze back to Bokuto, trying not to speak too softly, not to look too fearful.

“Well, yeah.” Bokuto blinked. “Are we dating now?” 

“Yes,” Akaashi said, and to his credit, he wasn't shaking. He bit back from saying anything more. He could have asked when it began, what Bokuto knew, what Bokuto thought, what they should do, what they could do. He could spend hours pulling out answers, and still would have felt the same dizzying relief when Bokuto broke out into a dazzling grin. 

“Finally,” Bokuto said.

“Then,” Akaashi said, slow and jerkily, “kiss me.” And when Bokuto breathed, “yeah, of course, yeah—” he felt reassured that Bokuto’s hands could tremble, too. He could ask for this. He could ask for anything and still feel confounded by the depths of what was given. So he took it, and accepted the unfaltering trust, the overwhelming fondness, the surge of adoration. Things that only had meaning when they were freely given.

He kissed him softly with the promise of tomorrow, too.


End file.
